


Apollo and Dionysus, Sitting in a Tree...

by stopcallingmeapollo (GayMarauders)



Series: Unrelated Theatre AUs [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Theatre, M/M, Trans Enjolras, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3915646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayMarauders/pseuds/stopcallingmeapollo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire are starring in Jehan's play, but R isn't sure about his costume</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apollo and Dionysus, Sitting in a Tree...

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “The paint’s supposed to go where?” (from n3bul4r on tumblr)

“The paint’s supposed to go  _where?”_ Grantaire took a step backward as Enjolras began wetting his brush and swirling it through the cake of red Ben Nye in his hand.

“On your chest. See, Jehan’s design is very clear. You’ve got to have this…symboly thing right in the middle of your chest.” Enjolras handed Grantaire the paper with Jehan’s sketches on it, then held his arm out so he could test the paint. “Take your shirt off.”

“As much as I’ve always wanted to hear you say those words, Apollo, that’s not happening,” Grantaire said firmly.

“Grantaire, you knew what you were signing up for when you agreed to do Jehan’s play. You’re playing  _Dionysus,_ for God’s sake. Your costume doesn’t even have a shirt. What did you think was going to happen, you’d go onstage in that ratty old hoodie?” He closed the space between himself and Grantaire again, gesturing with his paintbrush. “Can you please just take it off so we can get this over with?”

“Not much for foreplay, eh?” Grantaire teased, hoping to distract the blonde until he could escape and find Jehan. Maybe if he offered to paint him something he’d give him a shirt…

“Do you have to make  _everything_ sexual, Grantaire? Just take off your shirt and let me do my job. I don’t see why this is such a big deal.” Enjolras glanced up at the clock on the wall, which showed twenty minutes until the house opened.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours…” Grantaire said, almost without thinking, as he edged closer to the door.

“Seriously, R? That’s not even funny.” 

Grantaire’s eyes fell on Enjolras’s binder, which showed a little from under his toga.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I forgot…look, why don’t you just…um, let me do it myself, ok? I’m just not super comfortable with…other people…you must get that, right?” He looked hopefully into serious blue eyes, which softened slightly at his plea.

“Fine. But we’re all going to see you in a few minutes anyway, you know.” Enjolras set the paint and brush on the counter next to him and stepped forward, brushing past Grantaire. When he reached the door, he turned back for a moment as if he were about to say something; after a split second, though, he pushed it open and left.

Grantaire waited for the door to click shut again before pulling his hoodie over his head, followed by his t shirt. Turning to look in the mirrors that lined the wall, he frowned at himself. His skin was tan, and he was well-muscled from years of fencing and boxing. But his stomach seemed like a beacon of low self-esteem, and he had never been able to look at himself without the “pudginess” filling his vision. Sighing heavily, he picked up the paint and wetted the brush again, drawing it through the pigment before beginning to outline the ancient symbol Jehan had sketched. It was an awkward angle, but he managed respectably, finishing with ten minutes to spare. 

Setting down his supplies, Grantaire took a deep breath and headed out the door and down the hall to the green room. Halfway there, he was greeted by an extremely enthusiastic Courfeyrac, clad in a rather skimpy toga and winged sandals.

“Oh my god, Taire, you’re gorgeous!” he exclaimed, slapping Grantaire on the back and grinning. “Have you seen Ferre, by the way? I need help with my mic.”

Grantaire smiled down at his exuberant friend and shook his head.

“Sorry, I just came from makeup. He’s probably in the booth.” Courfeyrac bounded off to find the stage manager and Grantaire continued on his way to the green room. Once he had reach the entrance, though, his courage flagged at the thought of entering a room full of people–and Enjolras–half naked. He turned around abruptly and headed to the stage right entrance, deciding that it would be better to spend some time mentally preparing himself than standing shirtless in a massive group of his friends. 

The time passed relatively quickly and soon places were being called, the lights dimming and the curtain rising on Jehan, writer/designer/director/narrator extraordinaire. 

“I sing of Apollo, God of the Sun…” Enjolras entered then, and Grantaire nearly missed his cue as he watched him and Cosette dancing across the stage together.

* * *

An hour later, Grantaire found himself hand-in-hand with Eponine and Bahorel as the cast took their bows. The curtain fell and the cast instantly fell into chaos, a confused mass of hugging, crying (mostly on Courfeyrac and Cosette’s parts), and trying to get the set off the stage before the next one-act went on. Grantaire slipped through the crowd and found his way to the school Commons, where the audience had emptied out after curtain call.

“Hey, Grantaire, great show!” He turned around to see one of the boys from his history class, holding a program and smiling awkwardly. 

“Thanks, um…Sorry, you’re Cosette’s, uh…right?”

“Marius. Marius Pontermercy. And you’re right, I’m Cosette’s…uh…yeah. I’m Cosette’s.” He grinned awkwardly. “I really loved the thing with Apollo and Dionysus, by the way. That was really brave of you guys, especially considering the school’s stance on that stuff.”

Grantaire frowned, wracking his brain for something involving him and Enjolras that would have been considered inflammatory by the administration.

“You mean letting Enjolras play a guy? Because legally I think they have to let him do that.”

“No, I mean the…gay…thing. You know, how Dionysus and Apollo were always staring at each other and stuff? I never would have thought of that. But it was cute, in a subversive way. Apollo was super believable, actually, the way he kept looking at your chest…you should tell him that if you see him!” Marius turned and walked away, presumably to find Cosette. He stared after him, barely comprehending what he had just said.

Two minutes later, Grantaire found himself outside Enjolras’s dressing room, knocking on the door. 

“I’ll be done in a–oh. Hi,” Enjolras said as he stuck his head out.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were playing Apollo gay?” Grantaire hadn’t planned on saying that, but suddenly the words were tumbling out, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop them.

“I–what? I didn’t. Why would you–” Enjolras stopped abruptly as Grantaire reached out and tilted his chin up. 

“Enjoying the view, Apollo? My eyes are up here…” his stomach did a flip at the thought that Enjolras had been staring at him all night. Him.  _Ugly, useless Grantaire_. “I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s alright.” He leaned forward and planted a light kiss on Enjolras’s lips. Pulling back, he grinned at the expression on the smaller boy’s face.

“Maybe I should have made Apollo gay…it’s an…interesting idea…” Enjolras murmured.

“We do have one more performance, you know. Maybe we should discuss rewrites?” Grantaire suggested, stepping into the dressing room.

“We’re going to get expelled,” Enjolras laughed a little giddily.

“Not if we lock the door.”


End file.
